


Imprint

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:03:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28492839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: The best remedy for a busy week is a bigger boyfriend.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 22
Kudos: 110





	Imprint

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Another thrust throws him up against the headboard, but Ignis’ arm shoots out in time to keep his head from bashing right through the wood. His fingers splay against the polished surface, tensing as a groan rumbles through him, followed by a strangled cry, then a heady rasp resembling his boyfriend’s name. It’s difficult to get all four syllables out when he’s being railed like a freight train. His skull digs into the pillow, back arching off the mattress. His legs are spread as wide as they can go, because Gladiolus is thick and heavy and driving down into him without mercy. Ignis wouldn’t have it any other way. His other hand scrapes down Gladiolus’ back, dragging pink lines through the glittering sheen of sweat that covers both their bodies. Ignis is at his very limit. Gladiolus always takes him there, then pushes him just that tiny bit further, until it’s hard to breathe. Hard to think. Gladiolus’ lips cover his in a sloppy kiss that has him whimpering for _more_.

Gladiolus gives it to him with another brutal thrust, another after that, over and over again with no downtime in between. Ignis wouldn’t want it anyway. It’s been one of the busiest weeks of his life, which is _saying something_ , and there hasn’t even been anything good to show for it—just the usual paperwork, responsibilities, running between the Citadel and Noctis’ apartment and every kind of store and business imaginable. He _finally_ has a day off, and all he wants is to spend it doing, thinking, and being nothing. He made himself tea an hour ago and put on a housecoat, as though sitting by himself in front of the television would actually be enough. He was right to break down and phone a friend. He’ll be lucky if he can even move _next week_ , much less for the rest of the day. And every time a new contract or report or chore pops into his head _like they always do_ , Gladiolus fucks it right out again—just what Ignis needs. 

Gladiolus fills him with tongue and pulls out to nip at his bottom lip, bite his jaw, lick down to his throat—Ignis moans and tilts his head back, offering more skin. Needing Gladiolus’ sweat-slicked touch all over it. He loves the dull scrape of hard teeth and the way Gladiolus’ fingernails claw into his hips. For once, he doesn’t complain about Gladiolus sucking on his neck, because he’s being fucked too hard to give a damn about hickies. In this haze of nothing but pleasure, it doesn’t seem to matter if Clarus or Noctis or even _the king himself_ sees them. So what if he plays hard. He works so much harder. He deserves trophies for it. He knows he’ll probably think differently when it’s over, but when Gladiolus’ enormous cock is stretching him open, he just doesn’t _care_. He squeezes his fucked-raw channel tight around that massive cock and nonsensically pleads for it harder, faster, anything. Everything. Gladiolus slurs something like, _“You’re so hot, Specs,”_ against his shoulder and keeps going. Ignis is too dizzy to be flattered. 

One of Gladiolus’ meaty hands fumbles between them. It’s hard with so little space—Ignis keeps a firm grim on Gladiolus’ hulking frame and keeps himself glued to it. But Gladiolus makes enough room to fit his fingers around Ignis’ cock and give a rough, wet stroke—enough for Ignis to gasp and tremble. He almost begs for it to stop, because that’ll be too much, take him over, and he doesn’t want to come yet. He doesn’t want to come _ever_ , just wants to exist like this: a sleeve around his boyfriend’s giant dick. But of course, that isn’t how the world works, and reality always catches up to him eventually. 

He comes with a strangled scream and an orgasm so intense that he nearly blacks right out. It consumes his vision, his nerves, every extremity right down to the tips of his fingers—he can’t feel a thing but the buzzing in his skull and the steady thrum of _pleasure_. It’s utterly magnificent. He clings desperately to that, wanting nothing else. But it slips away like it always does, rising high and sinking down. All the tension ebbs away at once, and he collapses onto the tangled sheets. 

Gladiolus stays bent over him, held up on hands and knees so not quite so heavy, but still searing hot and sticky. His messy hair is tickling Ignis’ cheek, legs pushing his thighs almost painfully wide. The soreness comes back to him. The cold shivers in. He’s panting for air and doesn’t find Gladiolus’ musky scent quite as intoxicating as before. Both their colognes have almost entirely lost out to the stench of sex. He realizes belatedly that Gladiolus must’ve also come at some point, but for once in his life, Ignis was too selfish to notice.

He’s normally a better lover than that. But the way Gladiolus fondly kisses his cheek seems to demonstrate that he’s perfectly satisfied. He rumbles next to Ignis’ ear, “You’re so sexy when those glasses come off.”

Ignis has just enough wherewithal to snort. “And here I thought you liked my glasses.”

“I do. You look sexy in them too.”

Ignis tries to chuckle, but his throat is scratched raw and the movement’s painful. Gladiolus slowly rises off of him, gingerly pulling out. It doesn’t feel like the condom’s helped much, but it could just be lube and sweat leaking around his hole. He feels achingly empty instantly, like he always does after Gladiolus is gone. He knows he’ll adjust and the eerie feeling will go away, but it does tinge the afterglow. Or maybe that’s just the general ache in his cheeks and channel. He probably shouldn’t be lying on his ass and won’t be able to sit down for a while.

But he’s too spent to move. He just watches Gladiolus peel the condom off and toss it at the bin, though Ignis has told him a thousand times to put them in the bathroom and not his bedroom garbage. The smell’s too untenable. At least Gladiolus has the courtesy to pull Ignis’ off too, which is nice, as it was just starting to get stifling. He’s both hot and cold at once and doesn’t want a stitch of fabric anywhere near his body until he’s fully recovered and showered. 

Gladiolus doesn’t have the same luxury. He’s already collecting his clothes off the bedroom floor, torn off by busy hands and intermingled with Ignis’. “Sorry,” Gladiolus grunts, as though Ignis doesn’t already have his schedule—and especially Noctis’—memorized. “Gotta run. Not that I wouldn’t rather fuck your pretty brains out than train His Royal Pain in the Ass.”

“He’s been good of late,” Ignis wearily mumbles, because as much as he often agrees with Gladiolus’ griping, he can never bring himself to rag on Noctis too hard. Gladiolus just shrugs his shoulders and shimmies his hips, trying to fit back into his jeans. Hopefully he’s headed home for a shower before he actually picks Noctis up.

He does glance back to offer, “You wanna come?”

A laugh snakes out of Ignis’ hoarse throat. They both know he doesn’t have anywhere near the energy. And he can’t handle seeing Gladiolus work out right now, statuesque body flexing and muscles bulging, all hot and bothered. One more round like the last, and Ignis wouldn’t be able to walk for a month. The way Gladiolus smirks suggests he understands. 

He finishes the last button on his shirt. It always amazes Ignis when he finds button-ups that don’t just pop open across his broad chest. But he knows that Ignis likes to see him look _professional_ and somehow manages. Looking pristine and imminently fuckable, Gladiolus wanders back to the bed and leans down. He brushes his lips over Ignis’, and that chaste affection is the perfect end to a vigorous evening. 

But Ignis is weak and grabs a fistful of the sturdy shirt to pull Gladiolus closer. He scrapes the corner of Gladiolus’ lips with his teeth and swipes inside his mouth, licking him inside, trailing out, nipping down his neck and even kissing his collar. Once Ignis starts, it’s hard to stop.

He does stop when he doesn’t have the energy for even one more kiss, and then he slumps back into a puddle. Gladiolus grins and thumbs the leftover gloss off his lips. Ignis doesn’t even know why he put on light makeup in the morning. He wasn’t planning on going out at all. Maybe he does like it when Gladiolus calls him _pretty_ , although _handsome_ is just as nice and tends to come when he hasn’t done anything in particular. Gladiolus can be quite conventional sometimes, and wild others.

It’s not until Gladiolus straightens up that Ignis realizes, “Mm, I’ll have to wear a more transparent colour.”

Gladiolus crooks his neck to try and see what Ignis is talking about—a bright pink smudge along his eggshell-blue collar. His grin only stretches wider when he sees it, but he promises, “Don’t worry; I’ll change before I pick up Noct. ...But I think I’ll wear it home like this, because that’s super hot.”

Ignis snorts again. “Don’t start.” Not when they’ve just stopped. And Ignis kind of sort of really wants to go again. He can still see the bulge in Gladiolus’ pants where the erection hasn’t completely flagged, or maybe seeing Ignis lying there, naked and ravished, is just getting Gladiolus going again too. 

Fortunately, Gladiolus is dutiful. He murmurs, “Bye, Iggy,” and heads for the door. At least Ignis gets to enjoy watching him leave—his back’s every bit as impressive as the front. 

He steps out on his own, and Ignis can hear the apartment door locking in the distance—of course Gladiolus has a key. He’ll likely use it to come back again when he’s finished running Noctis ragged, because Gladiolus is every bit as addicted to this affair as Ignis is.

Ignis lies there, a bit pained but deliriously pleasant, for far longer than he’d usually allow. He knows he deserves it. And he doesn’t like seeing Noctis fret when he works himself too hard and shows up with bags under his eyes. 

Eventually, he rolls onto his side and reaches for his briefs, only to notice a pair of gray boxers draped over his shirt. His phone’s waiting on the nightstand, never far. Gladiolus is probably halfway home, but Ignis still texts: _You forgot something._ And it’s probably unwise, but he snaps a picture of the boxers to include, because pictures always make for better memories when he’s stuck in the office late at night and needs to scroll back through better times just to stay sane. 

Gladiolus answers, _They’re a gift for you_ , with a winking emoticon. Ignis rolls his eyes. 

But when he does get up, he adds the boxers to the steadily growing drawer of Gladiolus’ things, in lieu of the home they’ll inevitably share one day when things slow down enough to get married and shack up and always spend the whole afterglow in each other’s arms.


End file.
